


Ouroboros: Prophecy

by efnisien



Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-10
Updated: 2010-01-10
Packaged: 2017-10-06 02:13:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/efnisien/pseuds/efnisien
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While decoding a prophecy, Wesley gets a visitor who should be more familiar than he is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ouroboros: Prophecy

Paper crumpled in Wesley's hands. _The father will kill the son,_ said the words. He had tried interpreting it otherwise in a hundred ways great and small: finessed the determinatives, allowed for a syncretic use of rebus or riddle, run the characters through several encryption methods known to the Elamites, read it boustrophedon. No such luck.

Wesley had once thought he would welcome unambiguity from the universe's prophetic powers. Now that he had it, he unwished it. He should have known that any unambiguous prophecy concerning Angel could portend no good--

"I'm flattered you think so well of me," Angel said from the doorway.

Wesley blanched and looked up, resisting the urge to cover the offending paper with his hands. "Angel," he said, proud of himself for keeping the betraying tremor from his voice, even though he was perfectly aware that Angel's inhuman senses tracked his accelerated heartbeat and smell of his sweat. "What troubles you?"

"Don't play coy," Angel said, without heat.

Wesley frowned. Something was amiss--more amiss than usual, at any rate. Wesley knew Angel's history as thoroughly as it was possible for any mortal to know. But Angel's voice had a faint accent that, troublingly, Wesley couldn't place. He did not look human, for all that he had a human shape and a human face: no pretense at breathing except to speak, no motion but the minimum necessary, no emotion on that face at all. And now that Wesley was paying attention to his surroundings, it seemed that Angel brought with him a hellwind scent of fire without ash.

Opting for the direct approach, Wesley said, "I'm afraid I don't understand--"

"Not your fault," Angel said. "I've been too long without people. I've gotten out of the habit of explanations, and from your end of time there's no reason why you'd already know."

Now Wesley was starting to feel like he had wandered into a conversation with Fred: there was a peculiar coherency to the account, yet he couldn't tell if it was entirely sane.

Angel went on, "It's the boy, isn't it? I thought I owed you the courtesy of telling you that the prophecy's true. The things that happen because of him"--slight pauses between word, as though there were something Angel was trying to avoid telling him outright--"are--you have no idea how bad it gets. It starts with him, Wes."

Wesley swallowed, hearing his name spoken with unexpected tenderness by this Angel, whom he was now convinced was not his Angel. "I am correct in supposing you come from some alternate timeline, or some reality to come?"

"Yes."

Wesley thought of Darla with her swollen belly and her desperate eyes, of sitting up at night to take his turn watching Angel's son, of Angel tucking Connor back into his blankets. He tried to imagine Angel's large hands breaking the baby's neck, Angel's fangs--no. He couldn't do it. After a moment, he said, "I cannot permit it."

"You can't stop me," Angel said casually.

"If you wanted to--to carry this out," Wesley said, "it would have been wiser to skip the theatrics and get it over with." Under the desk, he reached for the cross that hung from a hook.

Wesley saw Angel move only as a blur. "Don't test my patience," Angel said, fingers placing delicate pressure on Wesley's forearm. Peculiarly, his voice became compassionate. "I'm doing this for you."


End file.
